Softly
by chipperdyke
Summary: fHawke & Isabela femslash. Love, sex, and violence. Heavy on the spoilers. Lots of intense sex; read if you like BDSM and femslash or any combo thereof
1. Chapter 1: Sweet Thing

1. Sweet Thing

I wiped my sweaty palms on my pants-leg. After the ill-fated Deep Roads expedition, I'd bought the Hawke estate and left my companions to their own devices for a few weeks, but I'd needed backup to go prowling in Lowtown after dark. Isabela came along, and it seemed that with her memory jolted the beautiful pirate wanted more.

"So this is where you live. Not bad," Isabela conceded, surveying the old manor. "I preferred the old place. It had... more charm."

I shook her head, wondering how Isabela's voice could be sultry and syrupy at the same time. It might have been the Rivain accent.

"You're talking about the shack I shared with my mother, uncle, and sister," I said disbelievingly.

"I meant Lowtown. Dirty, chaotic, glorious Lowtown. The smell of tar, and the sea... and the sound of some whore plying her trade in a back alley." She snorted, leaning casually against a pillar at the base of the stairs. "Don't you miss that?" Her look was piercing.

"You can get your thrills in Hightown, if you know where to look."

Isabela stood and approached me. "Oh," she said, so close I could have reached out and touched her. "And where would that be?"

"I can show you what I had in mind," I said, breathing in Isabela's scent, musky and brinish. We made it to the top of the stairs before she pushed me against the wall and took her mouth in hers. She impatiently pressed her core against my thigh, her tiny skirt providing easy access. I bent and picked Isabela up, and she wrapped her legs around my hips. I could feel her juices through my shirt. I was borne away by her passionate, savage rhythm as we stumbled through the door, and I pulled her daggers off her as she ravaged my neck and lips.

I fell back onto my four-poster bed, and Isabela bit down hard on my lips, placing one hand on my breast. I arched into it, squeezing the pirate's firm bottom. She pulled away and produced yet another dagger, tossing it aside with a flourish. The pause was far too long for me, and I reached for her, dying to drown again in her full lips, her savage grace.

She whipped off my shirt, revealing a naked bosom with nipples at attention, and kissed her way down to them, shifting so that one of her thighs rested between mine. The sensation of her lips brushing my skin was nigh intolerable, and I moaned, slipping my fingers under her skirt again and tracing the line of her hip. My lips and fingertips were numb, and my vision was narrowing, while the blood thrummed in my body like I was a lute, and she my player.

When she latched on to my nipple, every fiber of my body strained into her softness. I had never wished a woman to ravage me, but since the moment I first set eyes upon her, I needed her fingers on me, brushing lightly over my defined stomach and shoulders, her tongue oh, her tongue, finally now, hard against my stiff nipple. It sent a stab of electric passion through my body, straight to my clit.

But in a moment it was gone, and she pulled away, speaking softly. "With that pesky armor... hard to see... oh God, your body." Her breath was cool against my wet breast, and now my nipple was so hard it hurt. She grinned up at me, and then took my lips again, flattening herself against the aforementioned body, bringing the softness of her breasts against mine. The sudden fulfillment of my every desire was almost dizzying, and I dug my fingernails into her back. I was acutely aware of my core against her naked leg; she must have felt my wetness through the flimsy material of my pants, because she pushed lightly up with her leg. I blush to admit that I rocked into her like a virgin.

I suppose she liked it, though, because with no preamble she shifted and slipped her hand into my pants, dipping in to my thick juices. I think I might have gurgled, but certainly my entire body relaxed into the utter bliss of her touch, forgetting all dignity in the rush of dumb desire.

Isabela s eyes danced as she pulled back out and kissed me softly on the lips and eyelids, her body still poised a few inches above mine. "Tease," I muttered, blushing. I busied my fingers at the ties that kept her outfit together, realizing quickly that they were deceptively secure. She was still teasing my skin gently, brushing her lips against the skin of my neck now. Frustrated, and more aroused than I had any rights to be, I ran my hands up from her hips to her full breasts, cupping them softly.

Suddenly her body was a ball of tension, and my hands fell away instinctively. I couldn't see her face, but I could hear her breath in my ear, harsh.

"No touching there?" I asked softly.

She nodded into my hair. "Ever," she said, and her voice was laden with steel.

I'd encountered women who had strange preferences, but this was a truly heartbreaking one. I sighed. "But your clothes?"

Isabela snorted and worked out the ties that had been giving me so much trouble, dropping the entire garment off the side of the bed and grinding her core against my bare stomach. I was completely entranced by her body, the body of a goddess, dusky, curvey and hard in all the right places. Finally, she bent down and whispered, "Breathe, Hawke." I took a deep breath and tenderly kissed Isabela's cheek, arching into her core and clutching her body close, relishing the feeling of Isabela's full breasts against my chest. If I couldn't touch them with my hands, I'd pay very close attention when they pressed against me.

She nibbled my neck, and I tried to push her to the bed, intending to roll on top of her. It was like trying to move a rhinoceros's horn to the side of its face: she simply refused to move. I tried again, but she completely ignored the motion. Since it would be silly to force the issue, I relented, focusing back on the movements of her hips, her warm wetness against my stomach. I worked my pants down so she could ride my mound, but she shook her head and pulled my pants off entirely, settling her head between my legs.

She bit the inside of her thigh, hard, and then farther up, and then, very deliberately, she licked my lips.

This was a new feeling for me, and I froze, not sure what sort of response she was looking for. She chuckled huskily and licked again, sucking on my clit, making fireworks go off behind my eyes. Her silky touch drove me to oblivion. A throaty moan escaped me, and I had to stop myself from thrusting my hips.

A minute later, Isabela's fingers slipped into my throbbing cunt. All other awareness fell away, but that of her fingers pumping inside me, her mouth continuing its tender ministrations. It was unbelievable; Isabela filled my body, with each pump driving deeper into me, owning me, violating my very identity in the absoluteness of her domination, installing herself inside with a vengeance that made me suddenly doubt that I would ever walk again without feeling her there, deep inside, filling me. An electric tension was building, my inside already rippling against her fingers.

And then she stopped again, pulling out and laying her body flat against mine. I could feel her elaborate necklace pressing cold against my collarbone. "Isabella!" I groaned, squeezing her back and biting her shoulder in frustration. "Want... you," I said, and put muscle into the effort to flip her on to her back.

I was stronger, but she was much faster, squirming from under me and trapping me on my stomach under her. She locked my hands behind my back and whispered, "Now that's a naughty kitten." She bit my ear, and then I felt her core against my fingers, dripping onto my lower back. Unthinking, I plunged my fingers into her swollen opening, wondering at the way her body responded, squeezing my fingers and then opening like a flower in the morning. I couldn't put my shoulder or arm into fucking her, which was disconcerting, so I resorted to three fingers and fine detail work, stroking the hard plate and then the soft velvet of her inner core, moaning into the sheets and writhing in complete frustration. The only thing that satisfied me, the thing that stopped me from throwing this game away completely, turning around, and fucking her into next year, was the power of her leather-clad knees digging into my sides, the feeling of her nails on my back, and her inside drawing me in. I found my body responding to hers, driving my hips into the bed as her body gripped my fingers again. I wondered if it was possible to come by just touching someone.

I found the nub deep inside her, and rolled it with my fingers. Her body thrummed above me, and then she was gripping my upper chest with her hands, tweaking my nipples, her cunt rippling. I pulled my fingers out of her petulantly, whispering, "There's no way I'm gonna - "

She flipped me over, slipping between my legs and bringing our cores into contact. I couldn't stop my eyes from rolling back at the sensation. Carrie and I had tried this, but it hadn't worked - Isabela knew how to make it work, or maybe our bodies fit just right. I gripped her leg, and her arm -

It was over within a minute. Isabela came first, her orgasm so loud it probably woke the neighbors, drenching my cunt in her fluids, and I came right after, my clit digging deep into her core.

I sat up immediately and grabbed her, afraid she'd just jump up and leave. She was shaking, her eyes blank, and I pulled her to my chest, cradling her suddenly delicate body in my arms. I was shaking too, my ears ringing and my extremities suddenly freezing cold. She stopped shaking in a few moments, and she struggled to rise, hiding her face.

I let her, not pushing but feeling a great emptiness where she'd been. Had she been with me, truly, at all? Or was that just the shell of her body responding to what we'd done?

She put back on her tunic, if it could be called such, and leaned on the bed. "That was..." she chuckled. "Thank you," she said, turning fully toward me again. I was once again smitten by her beauty, her composure and the warmness she could place on every syllable. "I should go," she said, turning away again and rolling her eyes. "I wouldn't want to take advantage of your... hospitality."

"I like to be taken advantage of," I said lightly, stroking her shoulder, still naked in the bed. I wanted to leap up and take her in my arms; I wanted to kiss her so hard, feel her body beneath me and hear that dusky voice cry out again for me. But she was so obviously gone, almost professional in the way she adjusted her outfit, addressing me again.

"It was fun, wasn't it? Well, you know, if you ever want to do it again..."

This made me laugh. "Like... right now? In ten minutes? Maybe tomorrow morning? Tomorrow night?"

She grinned back at me. "Now you're just sounding desperate."

"Shit. Maybe I am desperate," I said, suddenly worried.

"Wait. We don't have a misunderstanding, do we? Let's not bring... feelings into this."

I was shocked into speechlessness for a moment. Then I frowned. "Since when does being desperate for incredible sex mean I'm soft and emotional?"

"It's in your eyes," she informed me. "You know, love's not for everyone. Love's not for me. It's just... messy." She shrugged as if words couldn't quite convey exactly how messy love was.

I sputtered. "Love?" I finally managed.

"Did you know I was once married?" she said, leaning against one of the bed's corners. "When I was freed, I swore I would never marry again."

I worked through this sudden subject change, wondering whether it was avoidance or elaboration. "Freed? How do you mean?" I finally said, scooting closer to the end of the bed and propping my head up on my arm.

"My husband took an assassin's blade to the back of the skull," Isabela said, some hardness coming into her tone. "And before you start jumping to conclusions, no, I didn't hire the assassin." She grinned. "I did thank him profusely, however. Ahh, Zevrin. He was an artist."

"If you so disliked the man, why did you marry him?"

Isabela laughed mirthlessly. "I was his plaything, a prized possession. He saw me with my mother at the market in Llomerryn and decided he had to have me." She looked away. "My mother gave me away for a goat and a handful of gold coins. She didn't even haggle over the price! Bitch," she spat.

Whew, I thought, gathering my wits. "So that's it for love?"

"Well, no. I fell in love with a man not long after my husband died. He foolishly asked for my hand, and I fled, not wanting to be tied down again. It destroyed him."

"Love 'em and leave 'em, huh?"

"Right! He should have known better."

"Just like me?" I said. She stood and looked at me hard. "I would never tie you down, Isabela. I don't want you pushing me away because you're worried I'll get attached like he did. People... love... in different ways."

"I'm glad you don't intend to, how did you put it? 'Tie me down?'" Isabella said, frowning. "Now, if you're done trying to confuse the issue, I'm going to go." I wonder if she did pause before she walked out my bedroom door.

I found her a few days later at the docks, watching a ship get loaded for a long voyage. "Isabela," I acknowledged, standing with her. I could almost feel the longing radiate off her.

"Stevan Hawke. Now you're a sight for sore eyes," Isabela said, inclining her head a little. "Back with the armor, it's almost like you prefer not to be ravaged by the eyes of random passerby."

I shrugged, the great plates of my armor exaggerating the motion. "I'm looking into a note I received from Feynriel's mother, the half-elf we helped last year."

"Always so prepared," Isabella noted. There was a hardness to her tone that disturbed me. Suddenly she took my hand, leading me down a stairway. She ducked under a barrier, beckoning me when I hesitated.

We were under the docks, with sand and a few sharp, jutting rocks between us and the crashing waves. I could taste the ocean spray on her lips as she spun around to kiss me passionately. "This damn armor," she whispered. "Always getting in the way."

She pulled one of her long, ugly daggers out of its back scabbard and pressed it against my gut, the protection light around such a mobile area. "I can only think of one way to fix this problem."

She bent and cut one of the fastenings that kept my thigh plate in place. I bit my protest back as she worked the armored plate off me, and shifted her attention to its partner, burying her face in my crotch as she did so.

"You aren't sincerely considering..." I said slowly, and with that she cut straight through the padded suit I wear under the plates, nicking my thigh carelessly. I believe they call it girdling in forestry, when a tree is cut around its circumference; regardless, she completely ruined my pants, and my thighs were bleeding onto my underclothes, pain knocking persistently on the door of my consciousness. I breathed out with an incoherent vocalization. "Isabela, this isn't really the... place..." She turned the knife up and cut through the fastenings that held my buttock-plates and groin plate in place, skimming dangerously near the throbbing veins of my thighs.

A particularly large wave came up, soaking my boots and spraying my face with brine. She giggled and licked the water and blood off my bare thigh. The sensation overwhelmed me, my wet cunt remembering the glory of her tongue, the pain mixing with the beating rhythm of the waves, the icy wind whipping my hair and bringing another gale of spray upon our bodies.

She tossed the leather and metal aside and stood to unfasten my greatsword. It must have hit the ground, but in that moment her honey eyes were all I could feel, all I could think.

And then she threw me against a jutting rock, my face in the spray of another breaking wave. She plastered her body against my back, her fingers deftly exploring my naked legs, and I pressed against her, spreading my legs and hoping, hoping...

She withdrew quickly, and then her fingers caressed my ass, before plunging into my cunt. All awareness left me, of anything but her quick, almost violent ministrations. I slowly became aware of her teeth biting my ass, her other hand carefully stroking my clit... the thought made me come early, the climax rolling over my body without any real release. "How dare you," Isabela snapped in my ear, and she threw me off the rock into the surf.

The water washed over my face, blinding me, and before I surfaced I felt Isabela's hand on my mouth, pushing the back of my head down against the sand. Is she trying to drown me? I thought, feeling the stab of betrayal before her fingers caressed my raw core again, more gently this time. I tried to still myself, aware of my lungs, only half-full of air, and of the salty water burning my eyes and nose. Her fingers established a rhythm in me, and with rising passion I had only to wonder whether first I would pass out, or come.

Isabela timed the whole thing perfectly, and the most amazing orgasm ripped through me, engulfing my entire consciousness in something that felt like floating, or flying. I think I probably passed out, because the next thing I knew she was holding my body out of the water. I spent the next few minutes trying to cough the water out of my lungs, with a bit of coaching from Isabela.

"You alright, sport?" she asked finally, when it seemed like I might be able to answer.

I felt like my heart might burst. Her tone was just so warm, the question felt like a caress. "Thank you, oh, wow." I gripped her arm, coughing a bit. "Can I..."

Isabela pulled me in, holding me for probably an indecent amount of time. My heart glowed and shivered under her attention. It felt like only moments before she pulled away, though, critically examining my ruined armor. "A blanket would probably help," she observed.

I grinned fiercely, trying to wipe my face of the water. "I really don't care," I ground out, my throat uncooperative.

Isabela raised an eyebrow. "You can't be serious."

"I..." I shivered a little, my body temperature finally catching up to the locale. "That, what you did, was worth the worst humiliation, and walking through Kirkwall showing off what you do every time you move? Not all that bad."

"My modest knight," Isabela purred. "That must've been one hell of an orgasm."

I closed the remaining distance between us and took her lips in a tender kiss. She returned it, but neither of us escalated. "You don't need... anything?" I finally asked, ready to muster up some passion but not sure if it would be quite up to par.

She slapped my ass, and then squeezed it. "I got what I came for," she said, and winked.

Isabela certainly knew her way around belts, and she used a few from the top of my armor (as well as a few of her own) to make my outfit almost decent. "I've got an appointment to make," she said after we emerged from below the docks, and she sauntered away. I watched her go, for once not ashamed.

Then I scampered as quickly as I could to Ander's clinic, adding a pair of flea-ridden hemp knickers to my wardrobe.

I walked in to the Hanged Man in search of Isabela. After the journey into Feynriel's consciousness, and her betrayal through the Desire demon we found there, she'd been more reserved with me. It was starting to bother me, because I understood why she did it, and I didn't blame her in the slightest. Maybe she wanted to prove that, faced with the same choice, she would not repeat her mistake. Yet I didn't consider it a mistake at all, to take the side of the demon and gain a ship for the trouble? The better I knew her, the more I realized how lost she was without a ship, without a crew - the only reason she stayed with me, I suspected, was to find meaning in their absence. The sex was just incidental.

I distinctly remember accepting my body's place in her heart (a very small place) in the very same moment as I looked up and saw, across the tavern, a man on a stool next to her put his hand on her arm. I sized him up as I strode to them, a man broad of shoulder, with a thick head of hair. My ears were ringing.

I placed my naked dagger against his wrist, interrupting him. "If you want to keep that hand, you'll do well to get out of here. Now."

All the color drained out of his face, and he dropped his hand.

Isabela turned on her stool, an eyebrow cocked. "Just what do you think you're doing, Hawke?" she asked, her voice dangerously level.

I stammered at that, finally spitting out, "I refuse to watch... I have the perfect right..."

"Yes, if you were threatening, say, old Mister Flowerpot over there," she gestured to a corner, where an old man appeared to be loudly huffing a drug. She hopped off her stool, light on her feet. "Not a fine stallion I'm in the process of mounting."

"Fine," I said. "I'll kill him after you have your fun."

She almost looked shocked. The man scrambled off his stool. "I, uh, it was goo - great! - meeting you, goodbye!" He nearly sprinted out of the tavern.

"You can't be serious, Hawke. You'd never murder a man out of spite."

"I've killed in cold blood, Isabela," I reminded her softly.

"And I saw the tears in your eyes as you did it, both times," she retorted, staring me down. I was just the slightest bit taller than her, but as always she managed to dominate.

I took a deep breath. "Three times, actually. It gets no easier. I..." I broke her gaze, gathering my thoughts. "You can do what you wish, but I can't watch you do it. Please don't make me."

"Hawke," she said softly. "You overstep your boundaries. I can do what I want with my body."

I breathed deeply again. "I will kill any man who - " She put her finger against my lips, and produced a handkerchief from somewhere.

She stepped around me, and tied the handkerchief into a blindfold over my eyes. "Come with me," she said, and so I did, stumbling a few times on unseen obstacles.

We walked for perhaps ten minutes, a long and twisty journey filled with the ghosts of men's voices and the snapping of old maids, before she released my hand, and I heard a door close behind us. I reached up to remove the blindfold, but she slapped my hand away, pushing me, hard, between my shoulder blades. I fell forward, catching myself with my arms, only to have them knocked away, too. I was laying on a blanket, the smell of moldy straw heavy in the air. Probably a bed - hers?

She tore open the back of my shirt, still eerily silent. Then I heard her get up and open a drawer. "You better hold still, kitten," she said, coming back.

I involuntarily tensed at that, wondering what she had in store. She stuffed some cloth in my mouth, and I accepted it, trepidation growing. She took my hands and drew them away from my body, guiding them to what was probably a bedpost. "Hold on tight," she whispered, and started cutting my back.

Under the docks, the pain had mixed with erotic sensation. I hadn't appreciated her carelessness, but Anders easily fixed those shallow cuts. These were not shallow cuts. Slowly, I realized she was also doing something to the cuts - sprinkling something on them, probably. Whatever it was, it hurt more than anything. I was a warrior; I had survived countless battles, with darkspawn and demon, and any other foe that dared cross my path. But this was absolute torture, without the rush of battle or the giddy glee of triumph to take the bite out of pain.

I have no idea how long she worked. Eventually I spat out the cloth, preferring to grit my teeth and moan audibly. Finally she finished, dusting her hands off and vocally admiring her handiwork. "That'll be a scar to remember," she said, and then she pried my fingers off the bedpost and pulled me to my feet, with the handkerchief still on my face. She put a blanket around my shoulders, took my hand, and led me back out of the room, down a twisted pathway made perhaps more convoluted by the fact that she obviously didn't want me to retrace our steps.

She pulled off the handkerchief, and we were in the marketplace. "Run along now," she said playfully.

I turned and watched her leave, too filled with anguish to muster a word. The pain from my back was almost unbearable, but the ache in my heart? Much worse. 


	2. Chapter 2: Reconsidering

Reconsidering

"It's a tattoo," Anders informed me. "Ugh, poorly done at that. It looks... looks like a skull and crossbones, with a necklace and... a pair of daggers? Did Isabela do this to you?" I smiled sadly at him, completely drained. "That girl is... really... something," he said finally. "Well, I'll just patch it up then?"

I hesitated. "Can you keep the... uh... ink in?"

He quirked an eyebrow. "You are a strange woman," he remarked. "No, nothing but natural healing will do that."

I thought about this, then shook my head. "Don't. Do you have a salve, or something to keep the pain down?"

"Uhhh... sure." He dug around in a chest for long enough for me to remember how, bare days after we first met, he made a move on me. I'd shut him down, and he'd become one of my best friends, but I could never really shake the feeling that he was watching my back, in more ways than one.

"Here," he offered a jar. "I can apply it for you if you like?" I nodded, and turned away from him again so he could start working.

"The only other option is those dwarves, and... I mean, they're nice and all, but I... I'd be worried that they'd take it the wrong way." I hoped he caught on to my double meaning.

His touch was gentle, a healer's touch. I allowed myself to regret my utter rejection of "the spear" for a moment; what a different sort of lover he would be, far kinder than Isabela.

He finished and stepped around, winking at me. "Anyway, you want only the best." And funny, too.

It'd been a week, and I was in a fever, laying on my stomach in my great bed. The fever had started with my anger at what felt like a betrayal, confusion over what she'd done to me, self-loathing at what I had stooped to. I vacillated between hating myself for putting my foot down, and hating her for a slimy, heartless whore. Should I have fought her off? Refused her punishment? Aveline was right, I thought often. And then I decided to fuck every woman who'd take me, as revenge, to boost my ego, to make the pain go away. And the next moment all I could feel were her eyes, honey-golden. She was a kind woman at heart, and I could not convince myself otherwise.

After a few days it was apparent that the fever was something else, too, but by then I had sunk into such depths of hatred that I spoke to no-one. But on the sixth day, I heard a step on the stairs that was certainly not a dwarf's.

The door creaked as it opened, something I always appreciated. Light steps came to the bed.

"Rise and shine, Hawke! It's a beautiful day."

No. It couldn't be her. Had the fever really progressed this far?

She flung open the window shades, and the sun blinded me. I moaned and hid my face from it.

"Seriously. This is no day to sleep in," she continued, and then broke into a sing-songy tune. "Today's the day/ you've gotta be brave/ race the wind along your way/ it's time to face the - Now, I could never remember this part. Lay? Bay? Day, maybe, but that just seems cheap."

She sighed. "Look, nobody's really seen you since, like, a week ago. If you've found a new puppet, that's all real great but at least let us know you're alright."

I mumbled through the pillows, "Go away, bitch."

"Oh, now that almost hurt." I could feel the bed shift; she'd sat on the side of it. She patted my back.

The worst agony of my life. I screamed into the pillow, curling up. She jumped away. "Oh shit," she said, breathless. "I just thought... Anders wouldn't even speak to me, I figured..."

I clutched the pillow, tears streaming.

Finally, when it was obvious I wasn't going to respond, she said, "Can I see it?"

I took a deep breath and decided to stop being childish. I nodded.

She slowly peeled the shirt off my back, ripping yet another one of my shirts in the process. "Ouch, Hawke. I think some of your skin is green."

I laughed a little at this. The tears had fed a mounting hysteria, checked only by the shreds of my dignity. But she came. Of everyone who might have... Isabela came. I didn't think it was unreasonable to be happy.

"Can we get Anders in here?" she said worriedly. "Normally I'd say fuck the system, and I do have a few salves, but... this is so out of my league."

I turned to look at her then, and she'd changed her clothes. I mean, I'm pretty sure she changes shirts sometimes, but a whole bunch of things were different: she got a corset, she'd added a metal shoulder-plate... "What's with the retrofit?" I said blearily.

"What?" The realization that I was probably delirious washed across her face, but she recovered quickly and reexamined my question. "Oh. I thought it was time for a new shirt."

A smile tugged at my lips at that. "Give me a kiss before you go?" I whispered.

She hesitated, and kissed me softly on the lips. I closed my eyes and tried to memorize the feeling of her lips on mine, all reason falling away. "I won't be a jealous lover," I said, not able to stop myself. "I... we could have a system, you come over here when you want me, I steer clear of the Hanged Man as much as possible..." I opened my eyes to see her standing by the bed, inscrutable. "It just made me a little crazy, to see, but if I can't see..."

"I think we'll hold off on the negotiations until you're cleared by our resident do-gooder, honey," she said slowly. I believe that as she left the room, she'd finally realized something I should have told her the moment we met: I'm completely hopeless.

She reappeared with Anders in what felt like moments, and he started cursing before he crossed the threshold of my room. "Damn stupid stubborn girl," he kept saying as he rummaged.

He applied probably five liquids to my back, some thick and some thin, some of which hurt more than others. After that I think I passed out, and when I came to he was sitting next to my bed. My back throbbed reassuringly.

"Thanks for not healing me," I said, making sure to enunciate.

"Merely my instinct for self-preservation," he assured me dryly. "I think you should be okay, but whatever you do, don't lay on your back. I'd be okay with you walking around, but please don't let anything touch your back for the next four days, which means don't leave the house. I'll come back in two days to check on you."

He left. I sighed, feeling lonely. Then I heard somebody turn the page to a book - in the room.

I whipped my head around. Sure enough, Isabela was sitting with her legs propped up on my desk. "What're you doing here?" I found myself saying.

Isabela sighed, closing the book on a finger. "Haven't got anything better to do than put that damn alcohol of Ander's on your back every two hours until nightfall," she explained impatiently.

Really now, Isabela? Was this her way of saying she was sorry? Did she want me to know she cared? Did she care? I doubted it. But she did come. Or maybe she really did find herself with time on her hands. Impossible.

"Whatcha reading?" I said finally, giving up on my character study. Isabela would do what she wished, and I would either suffer, or suffer.

"It's called 'Memoirs of a Wealthy Man,'" she informed me, adding unnecessarily, "There's lots of sex."

I groaned and turned my head the other way, not relishing the idea of Isabela reading heterosexual porn. "Please don't say any more."

She must have gone back to reading, because she didn t speak again until I guess two hours had passed. She sat on the bed, and put her fingers on my back. They felt cool on my fevered skin. My head was clearer now, maybe because Anders had forced me to drink some water before he left.

Her fingers were unbelievably gentle, and I focused on them as she applied fiery torture to my back. I imagined them, slim and tapered, milk chocolate brown, with ugly calluses all along her thumb and first knuckle. The marks of a woman well used to battle. When had I memorized their look? Surely before we first slept together, a bare two weeks ago.

When she'd finished, she said, "Hawke, when was the last time you ate?"

The pain was blinding. "Please can you keep touching me?"

She hesitated, and then ran her fingers lightly along the sides of my back. "Love, I never thought you'd want to keep this. It's sweet, but very silly."

I squeezed my eyes shut. I d hoped this wouldn t come up, because I didn t really have a good explanation. "Mmmm learning my lesson," I said finally.

"A hidden masochistic streak. No wonder you like me."

"No!" I said quickly, and then tried to pull the explanation out of thin air. Finally, I turned my body so that I could look at her face, again surprised at the new garb.

"I've only ever known girls, nice girls, I'm their only secret. I left a few behind in the village, and a few more on the streets of Kirkwall. They were never enough for me. I'm not masochistic, just um, I want more. I want a woman who can stand her own. Those nights at the Blooming Rose, I bought whores to ride me, although I'm usually - I like usually..."

"You like it on top," Isabela provided, unsurprised. "That's what makes you fun."

I processed that, and then continued. "I'll take this tattoo, partially to remember that I am a woman too, and I can I can hurt like they did. Like they do. Partially because I deserve the pain. Partially for your lesson, a reminder that I shouldn't rue getting just what I asked for. And partially..." I looked at her eyes then, narrowed in some mysterious emotion. "Partially because I want to be your ship, Isabela. I want you to claim me for your own, just as you have, in more ways than one. I want to be your freedom, not your chains."

She got up quickly, walking to the window, where a bit of blue sky was visible. "That was almost sickening," she said, still looking away.

"If you think so, why don't -"

"Don't finish that sentence, Hawke." She faced me. "You can keep the tattoo if you like, but don't use it against me. I'll sleep with whomever I wish, but out of your sight." She sighed and moved to the bed, surprising me by laying down on it, on her side. "You have given me the only meaning I ve known since I lost the Siren's Call." She kissed me lightly. "Can that be enough?"

I smiled and put a hand on the curve between her hips and breast, and returned the kiss. For now, I teased, and we spent the next two hours just kissing. I d never really thought about her kisses before, being I think reasonably distracted by more pressing concerns. Her lips were soft and pliant, sometimes demanding, and sometimes, I found to my surprise, quite happy to receive. It was when she let me take over that I might have accidentally escalated, when I started pulling her body against mine and almost groped her. The first time that happened, she took my hand and set it on the bed between us, and after that I regulated myself.

When two hours had passed, again, she pulled away. I played up the hurt part, and she giggled at my expression, rubbing her lips with her fingers. "This is why I never do that. Damn it, Hawke, it hurts to speak."

* * *

After Aveline's extremely pitiful courtship of the guardsman, she insisted that we clear out the Wounded Coast patrol so that she could talk with him. Well, okay, maybe not insisted. Maybe I offered.

Anyway, we found ourselves doing menial outlaw-slapping along the coast, which got Merrill all worked up about some kind of talisman that she needed from the Dalish Keeper. I couldn't give a damn about the talisman, and honestly, all the mystery and the fact that her clan seemed to think she was... well... evil, it was all very fishy and made me uncomfortable. But Isabela seemed to really care about the little elf, in a matronly way, and I figured if anything wierd happened, Merrill would probably take upwards of two seconds to cut in half.

We went to visit the Dalish, and cleared out a ruin for them of some huge creature. The only creepy part was one of the elves, who happened to be there but, for some odd reason, was apeshit scared of our little elfish friend. He chose to die at the hands of the monster, rather than simply speak to Merrill.

So, when we got back to the Dalish camp, and the Keeper said about twenty million times that she thought Merrill was completely an idiot and blind with hunger for power, I turned my back on all the "freedom to chose" aspects of my moral code and didn't let her have the talisman thing. I still have it here, if you want to see it. She was so fucking mad, I think she might have killed me right there if she could. Good thing I had my armor on. I guess she needed it to reclaim her heritage, but it really seemed like her heritage didn't want her. They'd rather die at the hands of a monster than look at her face, I mean... damn.

So anyway, after that we got wrapped up in some other series of caverns, and I destroyed another one of those evil books. Merrill didn't like that either, said it was a horrible waste. She's such a creep.

By the time we got out of all that mess, it was getting dark. We were just right next to the Dalish camp, but I didn't dare ask if we could sleep IN the camp. I figured the area would be pretty safe, though and anyway, a night on the mountain would probably do us all a little good. We bought a few blankets from the elves, set out a campfire, which Anders helped with (Merrill was sulking, predictably), piled on the wood, and settled down for the night.

I was almost asleep when I sensed someone near me, opening my eyes to see Isabela lay her glorious body only a few inches away from mine, facing away. I scooted up to her, pulling my blankets over her, too. Her whole body relaxed into me, which sent my heartrate through the roof. I put my arm over her, loosely cupping her ribs and trying to relax, figuring that if she wanted sex she'd probably be a bit more upfront about it.

"Why didn't you give it to her?" she whispered finally.

My lip twisted. I'd known she would ask, but this was a much nicer way than I was expecting. "See, that's where my own personal freedom to chose gets in the way. I chose to not get fucked in the ass by some elf kid who doesn't know what she's doing. Because whatever she ends up exploding, I'm going to be responsible for cleaning it up."

"It was mean," Isabela observed.

"I do that sometimes," I said. "You would have let her have it?"

"I don't think she's dangerous."

"Ah," I said, and we fell into silence again. I nuzzled her neck after a while, breathing in her scent. Just to make sure that she really didn't want sex, because did I ever. But she didn't respond to my touch, so I backed off and after a while, I dropped off. When I awoke, she was still sleeping in my arms. I counted myself a lucky woman, and tried not to stare too much.


	3. Chapter 3: Drawing Conclusions

3. Drawing Conclusions

"I'm sorry I wasn't there." She spoke from the doorway, partially obscured by darkness.

I broke from my reverie, perched on the side of my bed, to look at her. I'd been angry before, when I went to find her in the Hanged Man; I'd even waited a few hours, hoping she'd show up. Finally the barkeep said he hadn't seen her in a day, apparently unusual, and I brought Sebastian along instead, the highborn snob that he was. He was fine in battle... and the horror of the night was not lost on him... nor was it lost on Anders, yet... I wished I'd had her with me.

She seemed almost timid now, hesitation obvious in the set of her shoulders. I am sorry too, I thought. But if I said that she might take wing, like a nervous bird, and

be lost to me again. "Thank you for coming here," I said, trying to smile.

She stepped into the room. "We should talk about... things. Like how you feel."

Ever the wordsmith, my Isabela. I shrugged and moved over to give her room on the bed. "I could sum it up in a word: awful."

"The wound is fresh. You will heal." She hesitated again, touching one of the posters of the bed.

"I suspect so," I said. "If only it had been... a natural death."

"She died loving you, and knowing you loved her," she said softly, slipping onto my bed. She was doing well, I realized. I already felt a little better.

Isabela. I thought about what I knew of her mother. How alone she must have been. "I am lucky," I said. "I feel almost a... a brat, moaning about my mother's death to you, with all I've had. A family's love, a happy childhood - things you never had."

She snorted. "Hawke, love follows you like a second skin. Every week I hear that damned song Varric wrote about you, in one pub or another. Just think what it will be like when you've actually done something."

My heart was in my throat. "Isabela," I said, and then kissed her gently on the lips. "Love can follow me all it likes, so long as I can follow you just as well." She cocked an eyebrow. "The world has been so unjust to you. Let me... try to make up for it."

"My, Hawke. That sounded almost like..."

"Like, 'I love you?'" I said wearily, withdrawing from her.

"Not precisely what I was going to say, but yes," she said. I could feel her eyes searing the side of my face.

"I'm getting very confused," I admitted. "Perhaps you should set my mind back on track. Tell me of the person you last bedded."

"Really?" She started unlacing her impressive boots.

"Sleeping with me the other night, and the kissing. It's all apt to turn about a girl's head, till she's forgotten her place," I said. If you re trying to stop me from falling in love with you, it s not working.

Don t be ridiculous, Hawke. I'm... getting used to you." She said this as if it would be a sufficient explanation.

"We've known each other for four years." I was incredulous.

"Not that. Your body. The idea of it." She unclasped her necklace, laying it on my bedside table.

"This is getting more and more unbelievable." I sighed. "Your most recent fuck. Tell me about them."

"Alright," she said, sitting crosslegged on the bed facing me. I couldn't bring myself to look at her straight on, although I'd never seen her legs naked like this before. "She is beautiful, and knows how to have a good time - though she doesn't as often as she should. She doesn't have as many friends as she should, bound instead by some misbegotten notions of duty and responsibility. Yet her duty is not anyone else's; she is never judgmental, though always just. She lives by a code which is not always lawful, and as far as I can see it most like resembles the idea that every man must be free to make his own decisions, and that we should never bind him from them unless it hurts any person else. I like that most about her, aside from the sly look she gives when she's about to say something unexpected."

She kissed me, slow and deep. I pulled away early, unable to appreciate the kissing. "It sounds like you might have... feelings for this woman," I said.

"I'm trying to get used to her body," she purred into my ear. "Because I think one day I may trust her." She placed a chaste kiss on my collarbone.

"I love you, Isabela," I said, feeling as if the words were wrenched from my lips.

"You are a foolish woman," she said harshly. "I will never give you what you need."

"You are all I need," I said, the desire pooling in my belly. I took her face in my hands and kissed her soundly, expecting her to pull away when I loosened my grip.

Instead she relaxed into me, prompting a more passionate kiss. My hands were afire in her hair, stroking her arm, unable to stop moving but afraid to touch too intimately. She put her arms around my shoulders, and then slid onto the bed - on her back, pulling me on top of her.

My heart sang as I found my hand resting on the curve of her hip. The kiss had broken off, and we were both panting. I searched her face, seeing honey eyes darkened with passion, head tilted with irony streaming off of the twist of her lip. "What is this?" I said.

"Shut up and kiss me," she said, her voice like syrup and the sweetest rain. Her lips were better, the finest elixir that had ever touched mine own. I sank into her sweet softness, exploring her gloriously naked legs with my free hand, while the one that propped me up was buried in her hair. Her legs were like the rest of her: toned, but with the softest skin, and better yet her skin rippled in pleasure when my fingers brushed her backside.

The ties to her shirt/skirt were easier this time, since I'd seen her do it before, and I disrobed her without breaking our kiss off. When I'd succeeded, though, I pulled away to look at her, drinking in the pirate's full breasts and luscious curves. I grinned and kissed her chest, just under her chin. "I love your freckles most of all," I informed her.

"Indeed?" she said. "Well, I love your bosom." She tweaked a nipple fiercely through my shirt, sending arousal straight through my body. She brought her leg up my pants leg, bringing her core into contact with the front of my thigh. But her foot didn't stop moving until it had hooked the back of my loose pants, and with a bit of help from her hands she pulled the garment down to my ankles.

It seemed that she had no sooner rid us of the cloth between me and her center that she was grinding against me, feral. The feeling of her against my skin drove me to distraction, and I almost succumbed to the simplicity of this position.

She locked her leg around mine and bit down hard on my neck, pulling my shirt off just as easily as she'd done my pants. I allowed her to take my shirt off, but when she went for my neck again I pulled away, trapping her arms against the bed. I held them there while I kissed her ear, and down her neck to her shoulders. I took the middle road between her breasts, and licked along her ribs, ignoring her moans and squirming.

I took her arms down and held them together with one hand at the small of her back while I licked the soft skin of her belly and lower, right above her hair. She kept it trimmed, I noted as I worked around the sides of her legs, breathing her smell, like body and the sea. My fingers dug into her backside, deep, which made her hips twitch up, until I took the soft skin between her hair and the inside of her thigh in my teeth and held her down.

She moved her hands then, and suddenly they were free, and she had flipped me onto my back, straddling my face between her legs. "Lover, I worry that you are distressed," I said with mock sincerity, and I leaned my head in and licked her soundly between her lips. She howled. "A poison arrow, perhaps, or a scorpion in your bed?" I licked her again. "Is this..." I licked, "one of the..." I licked again, "six things women are good for?" I laid my head back down and smiled up at her distraught face.

"Don't make me beg," she said huskily, and so I latched on to the sweet spot, swollen and eager. She howled again, and then grunted as I flicked my tongue down again, tasting the pirate's fluids, rich and poignant. This was most interesting, this new way of exploring a woman, but wonderful as it was my fingers were dissatisfied in their place, one rubbing her back and the other tight around her hip, massaging the sensitive muscle there. I wanted to kiss her, lay my body against hers and take her with my fingers, but it was obvious to me that such would only frustrate Isabela, so I stayed in my place and found her hole with my fingers, trapped as they were behind her.

I dug my tongue into her folds and took her with my fingers. The angle was again sub-optimal, but she was so open, so ready, so wide and oh, the sound she made when I slipped in my fingers and stroked that soft, smooth spot inside. I forgot my mouth in the excitement of fucking her, slipping a third finger in easily and holding back, not wanting to go so far, and so deep, so hard that it hurt her. But the beast was inside me now, and it wanted only the hardest of fucks. It wanted to make Isabela scream.

She ground herself onto my face, and I suddenly remembered what my mouth was supposed to be doing. I found her nub again and sucked on it, licking as much of her cunt as I could reach with my fingers up inside her. She cried out again and I felt her cunt ripple around my fingers, a rush of fluid drenching my fingers. I sucked her again, and it was over, her body wrapping itself around my fingers and the windows rattling at the sound that burst from her mouth.

I pulled out carefully, and pushed her down onto the bed, wiping my mouth on my discarded shirt and then laying my body against and beside hers, holding her close to my chest. Her breasts pressed against mine in the most distracting way, so I gingerly took her lips in mine.

She responded, not as weakly as I'd expected. I slipped my hand down to squeeze her ass, and her body rippled like a wave. "Again?" she said with a wicked grin. She must have seen the animal delight in my face, because she giggled as I shifted off her slightly and cupped her with my hand.

"Your fingers didn't quite make it," she informed me, and with that I felt I had permission to explore her with them. She was that slick sort of wet that comes after orgasm, not as sweet as before she came, but with her body all lined up the way it should be I finally truly discovered her.

I couldn't stop my eyes from rolling back a little when I entered her, feeling the passion in my back and shoulders and oh, my fingers. "You're... feel so fine," I managed, kissing her softly. Her cunt was responding to me, getting slicker with thick welcoming love. I buried my face in her chest, not kissing or licking, just to have those glorious tits close to my lips. She had one arm around my back and the other on my ass, pulling it up with every stroke of my fingers.

When she locked her leg around mine it was too much, and I came powerfully, crying my passion into her breasts. All the energy fled me for a moment, and I paused, almost collapsing onto her. Then her cunt squeezed my fingers, breathing life back into my arm. I stroked her inside, and then slipped out, feeling her nub between my fingers.

She kissed me deeply, and then her fingers stole between my legs, slipping inside my lips. I sighed, funnelling the glorious feeling of her playing my body into my own fingers. Our bodies sang sweetly together, and ended on the same note.

* * *

It was a few days later when she reappeared in my estate, slauntering in like one of those sirens her old ship was named for. "Missed you," I said lightly, turning from my desk to face her. In her arms I'd found some comfort from the devastation of my mother's death, but it still weighed heavy on me. I was copying out invitations for her funeral

"The same to you," she said, not even pausing on her way up the stairs. I snorted at her assertiveness and followed, taking in the glory of her ass, swaying in front of my face like a "Free Money" sign.

She took me roughly the moment I closed my bedroom door, ripping my shirt in her impatience. She was pretty hard on my wardrobe, admittedly. But before we got to the bed, I noticed a huge bruise on her arm, just above her wrist.

I stopped her. "Is that a bruise?" I asked. "You haven't been fighting without me, have you?"

"Just some asshole," she said, avoiding my gaze.

"Played too rough?" I asked, trying to control the hot rush of fury in my heart.

"You could say," she said, pushing me down hard on the bed.

I let her, but didn't lay down. "Is he alive?" I pressed. She nodded, straddling my legs, but the fire in her touch was gone. "That's too bad for him," I said, standing up, holding her hips against mine. I'd meant to make a strong statement by standing, but her breasts in my face were just too great to let go of. So I botched on both counts: the statement and the sex.

"You said you wouldn't do that," she protested, squirming out of my grasp and landing lightly on the ground.

I wondered if begging would work. Probably not. "Two choices: you tell me what he looks like, his name, and where I can find him... or I publicly embarass you by bribing the barkeep to tell me."

"Hawke..."

"God, do you know how much I need to kill him?" I said, restraining my anger and clenching my hands.

"He's very tall, big, black hair and a big bushy mustache. Big hands too. You can find him in Darktown near where that boy sells illegal stuff."

"Name?" I said, strapping on one of the longswords I keep around. I wanted blood - my huge mace just wouldn't make the cut. So to speak.

She shrugged. "Dunno."

"You'll stay here?" I said.

"Maybe. Do you have some bread?"

I opened the door and stormed out, throwing over my shoulder, "Also soup, in the kitchen."

The place was easy to find. I kicked open the door, and there he was, napping I guess. His ass was naked and very hairy, but the sound of my entering woke him up and he scrambled to cover himself with the blanket.

My first cut went most of the way through his hand. By the time I'd gotten the sword around he'd stood, his business dangling obscenely, and I think he was going to tackle me before I cut all the way through his other wrist. Blood squirted across the room, staining the opposite wall.

I cut his gut, and the intestines started spilling out. He collapsed heavily on the bed, screaming.

Then I sat in the single chair and watched him die. It took a long time.

When I returned to the estate, Isabela was sleeping in my bed. I was so surprised I almost exclaimed outright, but I managed to bite my tongue, not wishing to wake her.

My Isabela. I sat at the table in my room and considered her. She slept with her mouth slightly open, sprawled out on the bed without any blankets. She'd taken off her shoulder plate, necklace, and boots, and in sleep she looked smaller, more vulnerable. I looked at my hands, big and blocky, the hands of a warrior, but soft, too - a woman's hands, the hands of a person who killed because that was what she was good at, not because she wanted to. She was safe with me, and I wondered if she was beginning to realize that. Telling her I loved her felt good, certainly, but they were only words. I think I'd shown her enough through the years... but there was no point in thinking about this.

I hoped she knew that I held her in the highest esteem, cherished her every word, her every movement - I hoped she knew that if it wouldn't be completely embarrassing, if she wouldn't laugh and reject it, I would bring her every treat her heart ever desired. I'd even gone to the docks once, to see how much a ship would cost. Far outside of my means - but that was one gift I knew she would never reject. One day, I swore to myself that I would find a way to get her a ship. Even if that meant she sailed out of my life, forever.

Finally, I unstrapped my longsword, changed into my sleeping robe, and gathered a few more blankets. I spread them over her, as carefully as I could, and then slid in next to her. Sleep came slowly, as it had the night we camped. I didn't touch her, but she was like a furnace, warming every piece of me that was near.


	4. Chapter 4: Asunder

Ch 4 Asunder

I'd never really liked the guy. If I was being honest, it started a few days after I met Isabela, I'd introduced the two of them. They'd both laughed merrily and Isabela held out her hands. "I've always thought of him as half-and-a-half, but if you prefer I'll call him Varric."

Before you start making judgments about how quickly I become jealous, I was mostly just peeved by their laughing. But he was such a slimy bastard. I mean, he's nice. He takes care of Merrill, though I really don't think he should; he's loyal, and quite a hoot at 3am after a bottle of wine. But I kept butting heads with the guy. The Bartrand situation didn't help. I think if I lived a thousand years I would always regret going on that Deep Roads expedition more than anything in my life.

And now we find out that Varric's brother didn't exactly sell the artifact that he betrayed us for in the Deep Roads. I hated Bartrand with a passion, but to see him in their estate, possessed by the artifact, was so pitiful I could hardly stand it. He was also verifiably insane.

It was my hate that compelled me to tell Varric to leave him alive. "I killed Bethany to stop her suffering. This dwarf doesn't deserve the mercy."

Varric looked at me, eyes narrowed in some mysterious emotion. "You're right," he said finally. "He is my brother, after all. I suppose I'll just take care of him."

"Sure," I shrugged, turning away. Isabela went to comfort him, and I left, feeling like the mansion was squeezing me. Seeing Bartrand brought the Deep Roads expedition back to me with a vengance, and once again I cursed my decision to bring her. My little sister - so eager for adventure, so brave... so innocent. Bethany died a virgin, and all these years I blamed Bartrand, for sealing us away, for forcing us to find a much longer way back. I wondered if I should blame the artifact now. Or myself.

Isabela came to me that night, slipping under my covers and waking me from a light slumber. I opened my robe, and she pressed her naked body against mine, kissing me deep and slow. I'd never have guessed she could be so gentle.

When it was over, for the last time, I whispered sleepily into her ear, "I should have let you bring her to the Blooming Rose."

She giggled. "No harm no foul."

I jerked back to look at her. "What's that supposed to mean?" It came out like a statement. An angry one.

"Remind me what the bird said when the rock told it not to fly?"

"You didn't." She giggled again, settling in to my arms. After a while I said, "I'm not a rock." A bit later, "Was it a man or a woman?"

I woke alone, again. I wondered if I'd ever get used to it.

* * *

My uncle came to the estate and told me I should stop "slipping it in the whore from the Hanged Man," saying it was a disgrace to our family and to my mother's memory. I told him he had no right to speak of disgrace, and that henceforth he should not enter our family home without my permission. What scum.

What's funny is it took him five months to figure it out. Five months of glorious, free, and passionate rutting wherever we found ourselves when the need arose. Once we fucked in the Chantry, and a few times in the viscount's garden. We fucked in chains and with toys, a few times with a whore from the Blooming Rose (Isabela had the year paid beforehand). I won't give you all the details; I'm sure you get the idea.

Anyway, the day after my uncle confronted me, I rallied the troops to attack that dragon my business partner said was terrorizing our mine. I wouldn't have brought Varric, but Isabela suggested him, saying that dwarves know a lot more about dragons than the rest of us.

"I guess they're pretty big, too," I commented, and at her apparent confusion I elaborated, "In bed."

"Average, actually," she corrected.

"'Hand and a half?"

"Oh!" She started giggling, and then she was laughing, and then she was crying, tears of mirth dripping down her cheeks. I snuggled closer to her, feeling oddly embarassed.

Finally she calmed herself. "The first time I met the guy, we got to talking about bastard swords. He roundly insisted on calling them hand-and-a-half swords, and then I called him a bastard, and next thing you know I'm calling him hand and a half. It's just funny because... because everybody thinks its sexual, but it's not!" She started laughing again.

"Oh," I said. I brought Varric.

* * *

"I'm going to die!" Isabela said, drowning out Aveline's apparently vital problem.

I had eyes only for my love. "What's happening, Isabela?" I said slowly.

"Remember the relic? The one Castillon is going to kill me over? A man called Wall-Eyed Sam has it." She looked at me, almost pleading.

"I'm trying to stop the whole city from revolting against the Qunari!" Aveline broke in, glaring at Isabela.

Isabela averted her gaze. "Well... maybe it's connected. I'm just saying, maybe it will help. It's important to someone, right?"

"Now you start being responsible? Shit," Aveline said. "Why you put up with her, Hawke..."

"How long have the elves been with the Qunari?"

"Three days."

"A few more hours won't hurt," I said.

She threw up her arms. "I can't believe you trust her!" I wondered how much of this was Aveline wondering if my judgment was impaired by the sex.

"Me either," Isabela shrugged. "Come on. The exhange is happening in two hours, and we should gather the others."

* * *

No Isabela at the Hanged Man. Certainly no Isabela in my bed. She was gone.

Best for everyone? How could she say that running away with her precious relic would benefit anyone but herself? I was devastated, enraged, incredulous. The pirate with the heart of gold, but when push came to shove she looked out for herself, ignoring the heated tensions in the city that were on the verge of eruption. The Quinari - no wonder they stayed in the city. No wonder Isabela made herself scarce whenever I went to speak with them! Her old boss was trying to screw with Quinari! What a woman. What a scoundrel. What a... what a rogue.

I didn't really blame her for lying about the artifact, although I wish she'd told me. Last week when she said she might one day trust me, I took it to mean that she already did. That was foolish, I admit it. The sex, the tattoo... the care she'd been treating me with for the last month... It was all so awfully misleading. I know she didn't mean to string me out -

Who am I fooling? This was the woman who just ran away from my life, probably forever, leaving only a note and a dead body. String me out? Is that really the worst you can think of her?

The shit hit the fan, and the Quinari attempted to take control of the city, saying that we would all be much better off if we submitted to their damn Qun. I'm okay with the guys, but I'm NOT okay with them trying to chose our fates for us. So I found myself slaughtering them, working my way through the city with death in my wake and an aching heart. At some point the ache went away, replaced by a fiery rage. I cut my way through the monstrous creatures, glorying in their agony. Was this what I would become, having lost everything? Filled with rage and the urge to destroy, having lost my moral compass completely.

The ghosts of my mother and siblings looked on. I told them silently that Mother was the last thing I could stand to lose.

Aveline watched me, her brow furrowing in worry.

And then the templar Knight Commander showed up, and some high mage guy, Orsino? The mage took it upon himself to distract the gate guards so we could make our way into the Keep without endangering the noble captives the Qunari took.

So I found myself face-to-face with their hulking leader, Arishok, begging him to see reason with an empty heart. Here's the thing with these folks: they're not big with the practical side of life. But then I heard a voice form heaven, and turned to see Isabela, looking somewhat smug as she considered me, before turning to the Arishok. "I'm sure you'll find it... mostly undamaged," she said, handing a very thick tome over to him.

I drank her in with my eyes, the vision of a woman I never expected to see again. All of my rage fled me, leaving only dumb delight.

She addressed me. "It took a while to get back, what with all the fighting everywhere. You know how it is."

"Heroic acts of sacrifice? What will people say?" I laughed outright, and I saw her expression soften, unconsciously betraying her relief.

"This is your damned influence, Hawke. I was halfway to Ostwick before I knew I had to turn around. It's pathetic." She sounded like she was kicking herself for it. I wanted to gather her up in my arms and prove to her that she'd made the right decision.

I was a moment away from losing all sense of reason and doing so, before the Arishok spoke, interrupting our moment. "The relic is reclaimed. I am now free to return to Par Vollen - with the thief."

My heart lept to my throat. "What?" Isabela and I said simulanously.

"She stole the Tome of Koslun. She must return with us."

"That's where you're wrong. You have your relic now. Get out of here."

"Then you leave me no choice. I challenge you, Hawke. You and I will battle to the death, with her as the prize."

I opened my mouth to accept the challenge, but Isabela cut in. "No! If you're going to duel anyone, duel me!"

I was torn between the desire to laugh at her excitement over dueling, fear for her safety, and stupid protectiveness. I stepped in front of her, but Arishok spoke first. "You are not basalit-an. You are unworthy."

The relief was overwhelming. "I accept your challenge," I said.

I engaged with him immediately, but he was far stronger and tougher than I, his two huge blades cutting deep through my armor. I retreated, and began dancing, provoking him to charge at me and then stabbing him in the back as he was recovering. We both took health potions. I was tired, and he seemed bloodied, so I finally engaged him head-to-head and destroyed him.

As he lay dying, the only emotion I could muster was relief. He shouted to his Quinari, "Leave now! Our responsibility here is through." With that, he collapsed.

I looked for Isabela. She vaulted off the edge of the balcony, running to me.

But she didn't reach out, stopping a pace away from me and looking at me with an unreadable expression. "I couldn't let you fight him," I finally said.

"You're a fool."

I took a deep breath, staggering a little. It appeared that my rib cage wasn't fully intact. "You're a hero now. How does it feel?"

"You're the hero. Don't you hear them cheering you?"

I glanced around, only then noticing the nobles on the balcony, who were shying away from the retreating horde of Qunari but would undoubtedly be upon us at any moment.

"It's you that made the choice. You saved Kirkwall, and probably hundreds of lives. The Qunari are finally gone."

"I didn't do it for them. I did it for you. It was always about you," she said, so low that nobody else could hear.

"Then why are you standing so far away?"

"Because I have to leave again."

I stood there, trying to process the words. They made no sense. Didn't she just say she did it for me? "Do you mean you're going to leave me?"

"You've never had me, Hawke!" She seemed almost angry.

I took another deep breath to fight the rising bile, ignoring the splitting pain the motion engineered in my chest. It wasn't the worst pain I'd felt that day. She started following the Qunari out the door.

"Wait!" I said quickly, reaching out but not touching her. "Why are you leaving?"

She just shrugged and turned away.

* * *

I'd like to say I spent my first two years as Kirkwall's "Champion" vanquishing evil, defending the innocent, and fucking beautiful maidens. The truth is, I spent most of it tramping about the Planasene forest by myself, collecting bear head trophies. There wasn't any real reason to be there. But I found comfort in the solitude. There are some beautiful things in that forest, and it was nice to be somewhere that... well... there was no good or evil, nor decisions to be made. I got lost often, and I started to know my way around a bow of necessity. Eventually the cloud cover lifted, I saw the sun, and I made my way back to the city. Once I was gone for two months.

Everyone thought it was ridiculous, not the least of whom was Varric. "You're really torn up about the whole Isabela thing, aren't you?" he said once. "Do you need anyone to talk to?" I declined as politely as I could, and escaped.

Only Fenris seemed to understand. It was nice, because it meant he didn't speak to me at all. Aveline was so involved in Donnic that she, too, barely acknowledged me. Far better than the inane chattering of Merrill, who insisted that she was equally heartbroken. Selfish bitch. Anders didn't annoy me, but I learned to stop listening to him, realizing it was pointless. Anyhow, he was so involved in finding incriminating evidence against the Knight Commander that it wasn't really an issue. Once I warned him that if he spent four hours every day speaking with Orsino, they'd catch him up in their net when Meridith made her bid for power. He shrugged as if to say, "Maybe that's where I'd like to be."

Once, though, the whole group of them banded together to throw an impromptu celebration in my honor. It was the anniversary of the day I killed Arishok, and they really decked out my house. I tried to enjoy it, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't help but remember that it meant Isabela had been gone for an entire year. Where was she? What was she doing? Who was she doing?

Why did she leave?


	5. Chapter 5: Debauchery

Debauchery

It was deep into the night, and I was well and truly drunk. The bottle of gin Varric, Anders and I were sharing was down to its last dregs, and I hammered hard on the table with a mug and called, "Wench! Wench, we require... we require your services!" I then doubled over in howling laughter, laying my head on the table to stop the spinning as I continued chuckling.

Anders put his hand heavily across my shoulders. "Whyzit that it's got to be wenches, Stevan?"

I raised my head and glowered at him weakly. "How many times you taken it up the ass, Anders?"

Varric cut in. "We could do a see-judge! You know you can tell!"

"Huh?" I stared at him stupidly.

"If you look at their ass! You can tell if they've taken it!"

"I haven't taken it!" Anders protested loudly, standing up abruptly and knocking the table a foot forward. I hooted and slammed my tankard down on the table again, before looking up and realizing that anyone in the main room probably couldn't hear me from the depths of Varric's "study."

"Igottafinder," I said, standing up in turn. I looked blearily at Anders, and then stumbled past him, grabbing the door frame as I pivoted around the corner.

To stop dead in my tracks. It couldn't be Isabela, standing there with such attitude in her hips, deep in conversation with the barkeep. I squinted, trying to stop the world from spinning. The hair tie was different. The ass was... amazing. Yes, that was the dagger she called "Even," slung across her back.

I registered that she'd turned her head toward me. Was she looking at me? I backed up, right back into Varric's room. The boys were deep in conversation. I think they were talking about lesbians.

I sat heavily at the other side of the table, my pulse hammering. The dregs of gin. I gulped them down eagerly.

"Varric?" I said as casually as I could.

"Yes, Champ-dyke?"

"Isabela isn't around, is she?"

"No, Champ-dyke. But I know a really pretty girl named Marie..." I shook my head. "She's desperate to meet you!"

"I think she's back. I saw her."

Varric shot a worried look at Anders. "That was someone else, Hawke. Isabela's not coming back. But here, look, do you want some water? Maybe I should walk you back to your place..."

Anders stumbled up and ducked around the corner. I ignored Varric, looking after Anders.

He reappeared a moment later, pale. "She's coming!" He dove into his chair and attempted to look innocent. I would have found this hilarious if not for the gravity of the situation.

There she was, heaving bosom, grand gold necklace, and all. She came forward and sat down at the head of the table, across from Varric. She leaned forward, giving a great view. We all gaped.

"Why wasn't I invited?" she said, when it was obvious we weren't about to say anything.

"Isabela," Varric said, putting his hands on the table as if he, too, was trying to stop it from moving under him. "We didn't have your address. See, we sent out these wee cards."

"You're all drunk as weasels," she commented.

"I didn't do it for me!" Anders burst out. "A good cause, really good reason, I mean, a fr - OW!" He winced.

"Look, Izzy," Varric said. "Since when is a few friends sharing a bottle of gin a crime?"

She shrugged. "Anything exciting happen while I was gone? Slay a few more dragons, maybe a some big ole demons?"

I couldn't stop myself. I laughed, a short bark. "Oh yeah. Glorious adventures in your absence, I'm sure."

She looked at me, and every molecule of my being yearned for her. I must have leaned, because Varric grabbed my shoulder and pulled me upright again. "Everything's quiet in Kirkwall," Varric said reassuringly.

"We are under the brutal reign of a dictator!" Anders proclaimed loudly. Me and Varric sushed him.

Isabela raised an eyebrow at that. "I can see that your enthusiasm is infectious."

"You and your glib tongue aren't wanted here!" Anders was standing again, and shouting. Isabela looked suprised. Maybe even hurt. "It is unjust for you to leave for more than two years, and... and waltz back in here as if we should pretend you never left! Do you have any conception of the wounds your absence has torn in the heart of Kirkwall's champion? You are unworthy of any title but betrayer and misanthrope!" His eyes flashed blue.

She stood. "Right. I'll see you all later."

When she was gone, Anders sat back down, and then picked up the bottle and raised it to his lips.

"Anders," I said.

He glared at me. "No more gin left."

"It's not her fault. She was clear about what she had in mind. I'm the one out of line."

"She should never have come back," he said.

"I guess you're right," I said, applauding myself at my subtlety. "I'm going home."

"I'll walk you," Varric volunteered. I paused, trying to figure out a way to un-enthusiastically refuse.

"I'm fine. I've got my sword." I patted the monstrosity on my back comfortingly.

He shrugged and collapsed back into his chair. I guess he wasn't as sober as I thought. So I walked to the main room. She was sitting at a table, speaking with old Mr. Flowerpot.

I'd been planning on sitting next to her, but when she turned and looked at me approach I was overwhelmed by her eyes. Throwing all dignity and caution to the wind, I took her face in my hands, and -

She lept up and backed away from me. "Drunk Hawke. Hey. I remember you."

I took a few steps toward her. "Please," is all I could think to say.

"No," she said simply.

"Just sex," I said, trying to lower my voice, the alcohol emboldening me.

"It's never just sex with you," she said softly.

I took the tone of her voice with me all the way home.

* * *

We'd fucked for like eight months. It didn't seem like that long at the time. It didn't seem odd that we had sex sometimes every night of those eight months. It wasn't surprising that she'd started staying the night, that when we awoke I sometimes found her just looking at my face.

I never outright said, "I love you." But I wanted her, so deep to my core that it sometimes left me breathless. I wanted her in me, and I wanted in her - I wanted to hold her all night and feel her breathing in my arms - I wanted to walk the streets of Kirkwall and buy her pretty things, feast her on fine rich foods and kiss her greasy lips - I wanted to see her on the other side of a foe, dealing the final blow and then just smiling at me as he fell to the ground, blood smeared on her face.

I'd spent two years in the forest so I could simply move, simply act - simply live. I hadn't thought about her. But I spent the day after seeing her again with a horrible headache and a great emptiness in my heart. I think I could only feel it because, for a few moments, it had been filled. Last night.

I hadn't blacked out any of the night, and I wondered if that was a blessing or a curse.

Finally I mustered my courage (and possibly stupidity) and dressed. I wouldn't push it. I wouldn't ever ask her for sex again. It was impossible to know why she was here, so I needed to ask. I also needed to see her. I schooled myself about staring as I meandered through the streets, murmurs of "Champion" following me as I went.

She was at the bar, as usual. "Enjoying the new batch of whiskey flavored with rat droppings?" I said casually.

Isabela tossed back another cup of the stuff. "They used to do it better," she said.

"That's because I gave the barkeep a kitten last year."

She laughed, seemingly despite herself. "You can't be serious."

I dropped myself at the stool next to her. "Neither has the whiskey gotten any better. I do have a cat now, though."

"That's precious," she said, eying me. "Are you the champion people keep mentioning?"

I weighed my options. "I don't believe I've heard of that person," I said. "But then, I don't get out much these days."

She rolled her eyes and called for some more whiskey. I accepted theirs, but produced my own bottle and poured some of my own into her mug. "Accept my gift: genuine Orlasian whiskey."

Her eyes lit up, but her expression quickly became guarded. "I'm concerned about Anders. Is he still nursing that crush?"

"Anders is fine," I said, maybe a bit more sharply than I'd meant. She wasn't really asking about Anders, she was asking about me. She was asking if what he said was true. I hated them both. "I barely see him anymore."

"Oh yeah?" She grimaced and shot the whiskey I'd given her. "Oh god, Hawke, that's amazing." Her tone made my belly stir with desire. I quenched it as thoroughly as I could. No staring.

I shrugged and refilled her mug. "I try."

"I'd never have pegged you for the glory-seeking type," she said abruptly.

"Isabela, it was your victory, not mine. Varric won't listen to me. He's spread these crazy stories, I can't make him stop."

"Bullshit. You could've stormed that Keep and slaughtered all those Qunari if you had to. You should've. It was damn fool of me to come back."

My heart swelled, but I crushed the feeling. "It was damn fool of you to take off. Both times. It was the right thing, coming back."

"Why? So I can resume my place at your right hand, doing your dirty work and feeling lucky that you'll take a lying, thieving snake like me?" She pushed away from the bar and stood, her movements aggressive.

"You know I don't think of you like that." I love you, I wanted to say. Isabela, won't you be mine?

She scoffed, and then remembered the whiskey. She snatched up her mug and downed the next shot, closing her eyes in ecstasy. I took the opportunity to speak, before she was gone. "You don't have to live that life anymore, Isabela."

"It's the only one I know," she said, and then she walked away. I figured staring would be okay.

* * *

"Oh, hello Hawke." Merrill opened her front door to me, radiating hesitation.

"Hawke," Isabela said from inside. God was she beautiful.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realize you were here." I shifted my feet awkwardly, halfway in and halfway out.

"Not a problem. I was just leaving."

"Oh." I let her gather her things, but before she made good on her promise I said, "I'm just asking people to come with me by the Wounded Coast, it seems there's a bandit problem."

"Hawke, you lead a most interesting life." She sighed. "Hell, why not? I'll come along. I love spitting down at those damn rocks." Her ship had crashed on the Wounded Coast, I remembered.

I smiled hesitantly at her, and she avoided my eyes. "Okay, so we're meeting midmorning tomorrow."

She left without another word.

I tried another smile, this time on Merrill. She was pacing, and now that I was looking I saw the tracks of tears on her face. Had Isabela... ? No.

"Is everything alright, Merrill?"

"No!" she burst out. "I am a horrible beast, a worthless being..."

"That's not true," I said unconvincingly.

She stood finally in front of her precious mirror. "I should have done this long ago," she said, and took a hammer to it.

It almost shocked me out of my turpor. The mirror that she held up as the best way of recovering her people's heritage? Did she seriously just break it?

I touched her shoulder. "You made the right decision."

She suddenly turned and buried her face in my chest, sobbing. I patted her awkwardly, wondering what Isabela had said.

* * *

We established an uneasy understanding: Isabela would come with me to kill things, and I would pretend that all was right with the world. My task was made easier by the fact that things started happening in Kirkwall, things that needed my attention, and more relevantly, the business end of my extremely large sword. It almost felt like old times, when I'd just been released from vassaldom. The only difference now was that I didn't send Isabela ahead to scout just so I could watch her ass as I followed.

I was returning from a meeting with my business partner about the mine one day. As I entered the mansion, she was flipping through the papers on my working desk, remarking at them. She completely ignored the sound of the door closing behind me.

"Find anything incriminating?" I asked, steeling my heart and walking up to her.

She turned, and as always it was a shock when her eyes settled upon me. I cursed myself for a weakling. "My suspicions have been confirmed. Were I to try to blackmail you, the worst I could do is accuse you of setting food out for stray dogs."

"I don't do that!"

"Then it's truly hopeless," she chuckled, and then her eyes became solemn. "Hawke... I need to ask for your help."


	6. Chapter 6: Past Reflections

Ch 6 Past Reflections

The wind in her hair, ocean spray in her face; Kirkwall at her back, and the Orlaisian heartlands before her, bathed in the light of the setting sun. Isabela was in her element, traveling this time as crew and not a passenger - or captain. Thus she cherished these few moments alone, at the prow of the ship. It felt as if the world was at her fingertips.

And perhaps it was. Crewmember was better than captive - or dead - or land-ridden! She once again berated herself for staying in Kirkwall. She had nothing in that Blighted city, except with every day a greater chance to be caught and killed by Castillon. She was a fool to have stayed, and ever more the fool to have returned. That damned Fereldan - or was she Rivainian? Isabela had never asked, but skin so dark, harsher features than her own, a stubborn jaw and eyes that knew more years than they should... such eyes!

She shook her head, expelling the thought. It didn't matter now. Isabela would never see Hawke again, and good riddance. That girl, with her bright piercing eyes, had done more to derail Isabela's life than Zevran and Lea combined. _To think... I was on land, and happy to be. Preposterous! Following a child probably six years my junior... with enough coin to take me to Seheron and back, twice... _Isabela shook her head again, wondering what exquisite madness had compelled her to stay after the Deep Roads disaster.

"Raven!" a man called from behind her. "Take care, lest you lean too far and take flight!"

She turned to grin at him. He was weighed down by a huge length of rope. "And perhaps I would prefer such, over the sight of your ugly face." She daintily took the end of the rope and started walking toward the mast with it.

"Loop around the - "

"I know!" she cut him off, not turning around. She could feel him unraveling it behind her, and found his obedience gratifying. _And I'll have a ship again, _she thought. _When I get to Val Chevin._

* * *

Orlais. Truly she had seen the best and worst of it. Jonathan of the Silver Isle, Regent over the Serpent's Keep - she had seen the best and worst of him, too. But that was ten years ago. His father had been alive then, the bastard.

It hadn't been hard to find the mansion; she knew these streets like the back of her hand. She stood before it, struggling with herself, before finally stepping forward and pounding the huge metal knocker. She suddenly turned away, but before she'd taken a step the huge door opened ponderously.

She nervously smoothed her new black pants. "I come seeking Jonathan of the Serpent's Keep."

"We recieved no note." The servant looked her up and down. "Identify yourself."

She drew herself up, cursing silently and wishing she'd gotten the hang of noble speech. "He knows me by Raven."

The servant sniffed pompously, and then nodded. "I will inform the master." And then he shut the door in her face.

"That was rude," she muttered. But it wasn't long before the doors were opened again, and the servant led her to old Paul-Henri's study.

Jonathan was sitting at the desk with delight on his face. "Isabela!" he exclaimed, jumping up and enveloping her in a huge hug. "I never thought I'd see you again."

"You're an old man, Jonathan." That was a patent lie; he looked every inch like he was still twenty, lovestruck and gay.

"Does it become me?" He spun on his heels, looking up. "Had I any idea grey hairs would buy me such a pretty house, I would have done it sooner!"

"Indeed," she said, and relaxed into one of the plush chairs, putting her feet up irreverently.

His face fell. "And yourself? How has the world treated my drowned treasure?" Jonathan had found Isabela, left for dead in a dark alley, after Lea's mutiny. It was really too bad he'd loved her so.

"I should have come here five years ago," she said, her lip twisting involuntarily. "I've been in Kirkwall."

"The Free Marches?"

"The Siren's Call crashed on the Wounded Coast."

His eyes lit up. "You got her back?"

"I did." Her eyes became distant. "A man named Casivir found me a few months after I left you." She'd chosen her words carefully, pausing to let them sink in. "I suppose they did want the Deniver Chest, after all," she finished, satisfied that she'd put him off.

"But Lea had the maps and everything! You mean she truly couldn't piece it together?"

Isabela leaned in. "That's why you don't write down the truth, sweet thing."

He laughed nervously. "You could've taught my father a lesson or two about good business. Isabela, you know I adore your stories. Did you find the Chest?"

Isabela dismissed the question with her hand. "Enough about me. So the old man kicked the bucket, did he?"

"And left me all of his closets - and their skeletons, too," he said.

Just at that moment, a woman's voice called from the doorway. "Dear, with whom are you speaking?" She was redheaded, and sweetly beautiful.

Isabela stood to shake her hand. "Isabela," she said, introducing herself.

"I am Maria," she said shyly.

Jonathan put his arm over her shoulders. "My wife."

_I didn't know he had a wife. Fortune smiles upon me._ Isabela desperately tried to come up with something non-sexual to say. She managed, "Pleased to meet you," wondering if that qualified as non-sexual. Turning back to Jon, she said, "I have a business venture to propose."

* * *

Isabela slept the night with great satisfaction in her heart. Jon had sounded quite interested in her proposal - a merchant ship to collect rare and valuable spider silk from the South to use in his family's garment factories. Far cheaper than buying from freelancers or other suppliers, and she would captain the ship. A good deal for all involved.

She found Jon gone when she awoke, but undaunted she explored the city she'd once called home. It had changed not a little - but something that hadn't changed was the people's proclivity towards kidnapping and assassination.

It was brutal and quick. She woke again to a blinding headache, a wrenched shoulder, and manicles around hand and foot, and thanked the capricious Maker that it had not been assassination she was meant for. She was in a bright room, but her eyes refused to focus; she'd obviously been drugged. Biting down a curse, she tried to focus on listening, but suddenly the world swam and she found herself slamming into the ground, disoriented.

"Whore," a high voice said, as if the word were a salutation. Isabela's head snapped up, and she sneered fiercely in the direction of the voice. "You will never again have Jonathan." _It's his wife,_ Isabela realized, and suddenly she was irritated.

She opened her mouth, only to have it stuffed with a gag, tied around her head. The last thing she heard before she passed out was Maria's voice again, commanding her cronies to beat Isabela senseless. This they did.

When she regained conscoiusness, the room was dark, but she could feel the floor moving - she was on a boat, or a pier. She lay still for a long time, suffering her bruises and trying to determine whether she was still drugged.

There was a sniffle near her, and later she heard someone shifting. A moan sounded.

Finally she identified the door, and struggled to her feet. But when she tried to take a step, a man grunted and her movement was halted by her manicles. She was chained to someone.

An icy fear filled her belly then. Val Chevin was known for one thing other than its fine embroidered shoes: its involvement in the slave trade.

* * *

Isabela wasn't one for long regrets, but spending a month and a half in a dank, dark room with fifteen other slaves brings out the contemplative side of even the most capricious brute. Wishing she'd been a bit more reluctant to sacrifice her pride on the altar of ambition was a marginally more pleasant exercise than meditating on the live bugs that seemed to inhabit every meal the slaves ate, after all. So she spent that time thinking.

One of her favorite exercises was imagining what Hawke was doing. At first she'd tried to defy the urge, recognizing in it the weakness that had driven her from Kirkwall, sent her fleeing for her immortal soul. There was no point in running and hiding if by doing so she only nurtured her sick fascination. But by the end of the journey, she was clinging to her fantasies of the warrior. It was like those stories the old man had told her, before her mother sold her. Serah Hawke, dashing between gallant adventures, saving countless, faceless men (never women) from brutal torture and rape. Hawke, raising an army to march on some enemy or another; one day it was darkspawn, and Hawke was suddenly a Grey Warden, and then it was a necromancer, and Hawke fought with an uncanny emerald fire in her eyes; once it was even the entire Tevinter Imperium, and Hawke was the head of a great host representing the Free Marches, Orlais, and Ferelden.

She saw Hawke clearly, swinging her great axe around in a deadly arc, muscles rippling under bronze skin and a perfect form, long limbs and a spare frame. Pert breasts splattered with the blood of a dragon; calves and a perfect thigh flexing as she lept upon it, driving a dagger through its eye and into its skull. The King of Ferelden would offer her a city in compensation, and Hawke would refuse it. Hawke would want only... and then the tears would flow, and Isabela would curse herself roundly and refuse to think of such things again.

Until the next day, when the image would sneak in slowly. Hawke, sweetly curled under silks belowdeck, in the captain's quarters. Sleeping, her dark hair splayed about her and those bright emerald eyes hooded for only as long as it took Isabela to slide into bed beside her. Then Hawke would wake and hold her. _I've just been waiting for you,_ Hawke would say. _I will always be here, for whatever you may desire._

And then Isabela would make her scream.

* * *

Why the slavers felt the need to transport the slaves out of Orlais was beyond her, but she suspected that they were tracking back her own journey, east past the Free Marches and landing probably in Antiva.

The slavers only opened the door during the day, when the light would blind them all, making any attempt at escape a feeble one indeed. The first week out, three big men had tried, and Isabela still had their caked blood on her hair.

But today was different. Instead of filling their bowls, the faceless shapes were shouting, rousing them. Isabela pulled the man on the other side of her chains up, to his great disgruntlement (the man reminded her of Aveline), and so they were among the first to take the stairs and feel the sun on their faces.

A breath of wind brought the scent of singed beef and coconut milk. Isabela didn't even try to fight the smile that lept onto her face. Slowly, her tired eyes were adjusting to the blinding light, and she kept them completely open though she could taste her own tears. She'd be damned if she stayed blind for a moment longer.

If this wasn't the port of Rialto, she was a suckling pig. The port was an utter mess of planks and incorporated ships, forming a massive maze that doubled as a marketplace.

There were only six slavers, but they were armed to the teeth. Isabela eyed their whips before deciding that trying to convince man-Aveline to make a run for it wouldn't be very fruitful.

Finally, she looked around at the other slaves. Half were elves, either violently reclaimed or having sold themselves back into slavery, as they'd already determined; but something that Isabela hadn't realized before was that every one of the slaves was almost stunningly beautiful, even through the grime and misery of the journey. That explained why they'd sailed here; slave brothels were unheard of in Orlais.

They were all marched to a port-warehouse, predictably not on solid ground. They were fed, and a man took their measurements. _So we will be sold,_ Isabela realized.

A few days passed, and then they were all put through a rigorous cleaning and clothing process, and marched to the marketplace. Some of the slaves were dressed decently, but evidently the slavers wanted to appeal to a range of clientele; Isabela was nearly naked, with barely a loincloth and even less to hold her breasts together. She was sincerely torn between strutting defiantly and cowering like a virgin, and finally decided on a meek, oppressed attitude. It was difficult.

The selling had been advertised; probably fifty people crowded the small plaza. Each slave was unmanicled and brought to the stage, where they were auctioned (or kept, if the offer was too low).

Finally it was Isabela's turn, and she hid behind her hair before the auctioner took her chin roughly and revealed her. Across the plaza, on a balcony, a man leaned forward. A man with a familiar face...

In that moment Isabela lept off the stage and plunged into the crowd, snatching an ornamental dagger on her way. There were four guards standing in the only exit, but she caught them by surprise, easily rolling and dodging their clumsy hands.

And then she took off, running in earnest now, There were shouts behind her, but they faded quickly in the bustling marketplace. Soon she adjusted her clothing-tie and slowed to a walk, slinking like a whore so that her dress was less remarkable.

She tried to orient herself. The damn place was constantly morphing, growing and deforming, but a core section hadn't changed in years, and Isabela headed in that direction, trying to recall the name of the owner of the pub. She didn't dare try the high-class whore house; Castillon undoubtedly had his dirty paws in the place. _Why did it have to be Castillon? It might have been fun to be someone's pleasure slave for a few months. Easy, even._

But then she involuntarily shuddered. She had no desire to sleep with a stranger, even a very rich stranger who fed her actual food. This was an unfamiliar feeling for her, but she hadn't had that desire in a long time. Curiousity, yes, and of course her lukewarm interest hadn't actually stopped her from trying people out. But when it was over Isabela always wondered why she'd done it at all. It was silly, when it took only a walk to Hightown... she had a sudden flash of Hawke's lanky legs between hers, her eyes drawing Isabela in, drowning her, while her hands raked exquisite pain down her stomach and along her thighs.

She'd ask the barman if she could work the bar for the night; he wouldn't say no, considering the nice cut he'd get out of it. Then she'd buy clothes (it was too hard to steal from a shop), and lift another dagger or two, maybe some jewlery, and sell it. That would only work after she had clothes, though; too bad these rich people were so good about their purses in this district. And she couldn't steal at the pub, the barman would never stand for that.

After that she had to get out, and quick. Castillon would already have his dogs looking, which meant she needed to stay as far away from the berthed ships as she could. Unfortunate, because sailing was one of the few things she could be paid to do.

That, and opening her legs.

Hey, maybe it wouldn't be _that_ boring.

* * *

_Author's Note: Now I truly understand what "fan service" means. _

_No, just kidding. I really appreciate the input that I've gotten about this story; talking over my characters in countless messages has been invaluable to me. Yes, that's even my anti-fans._

_We're back to Hawke for the next one, and probably the rest of my extremely abbreviated story. I hope you appreciated the exotic locales; I tried really hard not to wax Tolkien and get all descriptive._

_If you're curious about a theme song for the last few chapters, Tegan and Sara's "The Cure" is actually very apt, and available for viewing/listening on YouTube. That song embodies the general tone of chapter 5, Debauchery. _


	7. Chapter 7: Finishing

_Author's Note_

_THIS IS THE LAST CHAPTER. I will probably be writing a sequel. But I will only start posting once I'm committed to it, which means a few weeks' wait at the least. On the bright side, it will be post-DA2, so I will be actually trying to make it a story, as opposed to what this one is, which is essentially filler._

_This has been a great run, and thank you to my followers and people who've stuck with me till the end. I really appreciate the PMs and the comments, good and bad._

_This chapter represents my first significant break from canon (I have changed the setting and general theme of an entire scene included in the game)._

_If you're interested in learning exactly what these (...) mean, I would strongly urge you to type "AFF" into google, click on that top link, navigate to the "games" archive under the heading "Anime/Games Archives", and scroll down until you get to "Softly" by chipperdyke._

_Edit: I added two paragraphs at VGJunky158's generous recommendation._

* * *

7. Finishing

Of course. Why else would she be here?

I choked down a wave of bitterness and nodded. "I'm listening."

"Castillon caught up with me, and I'm not waiting around for him to stick a knife in my vitals." She walked to the fire.

I wondered if she was referring to her mysterious three year hiatus. "So we kill him."

"Naturally, but he hasn't shown his dirty face. I DO know where his right hand is, however. We just have to make him tell us where Castillon is."

"We'll hit him until he talks?"

She rolled her eyes. "I think Velasco's more afraid of Castillon than us."

"The choice is more between Castillon and death."

She gave me an appraising look. "Well, I had an idea." She hesitated, staring at the fire.

"Go on?"

"You could use me as bait."

My answer was immediate and unequivocal. "Not happening."

"He'll take me to Castillon, and I'll leave you a trail to follow. You -"

"There's no way I'm going to let you put yourself into the hands of a man who wants to kill you, on the off chance that you're able to drop what? Some glitter on the ground? It's far too risky."

"Hey, this is my life to risk!"

"I won't be a party to this. There must be some other way."

She stared at the fire, her face going blank, and then she turned toward me, a predatory look in her eye. I started backing up as she slunk toward me; I knew that look, and I wanted nothing of it. Not like this, not now... not merely to serve her purposes.

Yet I shuddered when she touched my hip, and when she softly kissed my lips I fell into her body, molding myself to her. It felt like sliding in to cool water after three years of beating, deadly hot sun, the greatest relief. I thought for one deranged moment that after so long apart, our bodies couldn't help slide together like two halves of one perfect whole.

Her hands moved gently up from my hips, along my sides to graze my breasts, and that's when I caught her wrists in my hands and pulled away. She looked innocently at me, and I hissed, "I refuse to use you as bait," trying to make myself angry.

Her voice was low and seductive, belying her next words. "Would you rather my throat were slit while sleeping?"

I threw her hands down and stepped away in frustration. "Can't we bribe your man, Velasco?"

"Stevan, why won't you see reason?" she said, closing the gap between us in a heartbeat. Her proximity made my fingers itch, my skin tingle, and brought tears of wanting to my eyes. "It's my plan. I will live with the consequences if it fails."

"What is this?" I whispered finally. "What do you mean to accomplish by teasing me so?"

She hesitated, and I watched some dark thought flicker across her face. And then she turned away, muttering something that almost sounded like, "I'm sorry."

She was halfway to the door when I called to her. "Okay," I said. "Look, okay, I'll do it."

* * *

"Now, this needs to be convincing," Isabela coached me as we made our way the the Blooming Rose, a high night wind whistling through the city. "Be creative. Call me names... you can even hit me," she said, and I swear she winked.

I'd hit her before, a few times when we were brawling over some imagined disagreement, a few times when we were fucking, because she found it fun. I shuddered at the thought of it now.

"Stick with it, no matter how I react. Velasco's a clever son of a bitch. If you waver, he'll notice."

She'd completely backed off after the incident at my house, treating me as she had before we'd been lovers. It would have been maddening if I hadn't been so numb. I wondered if this was what it felt like to fall out of love. Three years ago, I'd resigned myself to a solitary life; it wasn't that I would love her forever, but rather that nobody could ever hope to fill her shoes, and I didn't want to subject someone else to constant comparison. I pined for her when she left, and perhaps if things had flared up in Kirkwall I would have easily slid into the role of "Champion." But the title was an honorific and nothing more, and so I dropped deeper and deeper inside of myself. Anders thought she'd destroyed me, but he was blinded by his manly affections and Justice. I wasn't destroyed. I was just... detached.

But when Isabela touched me simply to manipulate me, something changed. I guess since she had completely refrained from approaching me sexually, I figured that she thought sex with me held special significance. That was something, at least, though I would certainly have preferred that she not set me on a pedestal. But to use sex so cheaply. It was insulting and vulgar. The anger I'd been incapable of feeling after she touched me flared suddenly, breaking my numbness.

I turned to her suddenly, saying, "Castillon followed you here, didn't he? That's why you came back."

She gave me a look that meant she was about to lie. I beat her to it. "Look, I don't really care. You lied about the relic, and I just don't feel comfortable helping you unless you're being honest."

With that she shrugged. "I was sold to his slavers, and escaped, only to have his dogs on my heels all over Thedas. So yes. I came here to face him. To fight him."

"Assuming I would forgive you. Again."

"Hoping," she conceded. "You were my best chance."

"That's true. I am your best chance," I said, not even trying to keep the bitterness out of my tone.

The Blooming Rose was hopping, but I guess Velasco had paid a good sovereign for a room upstairs. Aveline and Varric attempted to "blend" (the captain of the guard's every movement betraying her affronted intolerance) as Izzy and I barged in on the man. He was making sloppy moves on what I assumed was an elf whore.

I imposed myself, and he immediately addressed me. "I have a present for Castillon," I said, pointing my thumb behind me.

Isabela came forward, freaking out. "Present for - what?"

"It's an embarrassment, you following me about like this," I said. If she wanted it, she'd get it. "I've got to look after my own reputation now."

"I thought we were a team!" She was really laying it on thick.

"You weren't singing that song too loudly three months ago, or three years ago for that matter." I grabbed her shoulder and thrust her roughly into Velasco's hands. "Where's my payment?"

"So, Isabela. You run to your friends, only to find that you have none," he said, stroking her face with one finger. She flinched away.

He dug through a pouch and handed over a few coins. "A token of appreciation. More than she's worth."

Following the trail was easier than I expected, though Varric kept having to pull me back, saying that we might catch up with them if I RAN there. I cursed him for a heartless bastard and slowed down.

I just caught the end part of the son of a bitch's come on, and her quick retort, before I rushed down the sodding broken stairs to chop those pirate bastards to pieces. I'd say it went fairly well.

And then Castillon shows up. Thank God! If he'd been a bit more careful, he would have simply taken off, gone to a new hideaway, probably much harder to flush than this one had proven.

"And Velasco told me you were all tied up, a lovely present just waiting to be opened!" I could feel her bristle beside me. "I see he's paid for that mistake. He does make a lovely smear, doesn't he? Well-played, Isabela! Crossed and double-crossed."

"I didn't think you were messy, Castillon. But look, you left shit in that crate over there." She waved some papers at his too-innocent face. "Slavery in the Free Marches? There's not many who will applaud you for that."

I think his and my suspicious looks mirrored each other. "Get to the point," he said.

"Give me your ship, and your word to leave me alone, and you can have these papers and go."

Varric mumbled something behind us, but it wasn't my place to cut in. This was her blackmail, after all. A ship. She would finally be free of us.

"I saw the ship docked in the harbor, Castillon. She is splendid. I want her."

I knew before he said it that he would agree. We tramped back through Lowtown with Castillon's final words ringing in our ears: "You'd make a remarkable ally for any man able to tame you." The words made me flinch a little, in their wrongness. I guess they proved exactly what it was he hadn't understood, so many years before. Isabela was not a woman meant to be tamed.

"What's his word worth, Isabela?" I asked as we made our way to the ship. It wasn't the biggest ship in the dock, but it wasn't small, either. We stood above, surveying the moonlit docks.

"His weight in solid gold," she quipped. "I have the ship, at least." It was true. Some men were busy unloading big crates and chests from it. "Anyway, I think he's finally realized the more men he sends after me, the fewer he has at the end of the day."

"Smart man," I noted. "What's her name?"

"Concubine," she said immediately. I snorted involuntarily.

"I don't know much about ships, but I fail to detect perfume, makeup, or illegitimate sons."

"You're right. You don't know anything about ships." Her tone was light. "So be off with you."

"And leave you in a den of thieves, only moments away from a man who's been hunting you for seven years? I should see you to your Concubine, at least."

I think she rolled her eyes, but in the moonlight it was hard to tell. "Ever the gallant, Hawke. When will you learn? A whore is not to be treated as royalty."

"Offensive caste limitations aside, you're not a whore, Isabela."

The last few crates were set on the pier. Isabela walked toward the ship; I could see by the way she walked that she was watching every shadow. She had the ownership documents in hand, "I've slept with men for money," she said, her attention elsewhere.

I winced, and a great jealousy filled my heart. Would this awful feeling never die?

She took the gangplank with the grace of a cat, and I saw her shoulders relax when she stepped onto the ship. It would be foolish of me to follow. I still cared too much about Isabela, obviously, and my righteous anger fueled my determination, so I stopped at the bottom of the gangplank.

She turned and looked at me. "I'm free now," she called across the water.

My anger evaporated. "As you should be."

"Come on!" she said, and I came, feeling like an awkward sea fowl in my heavy armor as I made my way across the plank, the sea crashing below. "There might be stowaways for you to kill!" she said when I stood before her, and she pulled up the plank, leaving only the treacherous moorings tying us to the solid world.

She took my hand and practically skipped down to the crew's quarters, lighting a candle when the moonlight stopped. She stalked the quarters with a practiced, watchful eye, and I watched her hungrily, throwing all caution to the wind. I probably looked broody, because my indignation had resurfaced, but hell if I'd squander what were probably my last moments alone with her. She would leave, and I would stay, Kirkwall's reluctant champion, consumed from the inside by helpless hate and lust. It made a pretty picture: the young guard of Lothering, fleeing the Blight with her family only to have them picked off one by one, rising to fame but falling in love with a pirate wench and squandering her influence on the squirrels and ravens of the wild, a lost and empty soul.

I found a grim pleasure in it, my fate, although it was probably a lie: if Isabela left now, I would be caught up in the politics that Ander was always spewing about, and when I came out on the mage's side, I'd be in for the fight of my life. So I would go out in a blaze of glory, albeit probably impotent, protecting the freedom of mages like my dead sister and fanatical best friend. A sour and shallow fate, by my reckoning.

Finally we made our way down another set of stairs to the hold, which Isabela went over with a fine-toothed comb. I watched her face in the candlelight, trying to memorize the contours of her lips, the flickering fire deep in her eye. I was overcome with a desire to smell her again, to feel the soft skin of her belly and those legs, remembering the taste of her, salty and deep. It was so easy to lose myself in my lust for her. I preferred that over politics, religion... magic.

When she was satisfied that all was well, we took the stairs back up to the captain's quarters. I followed her, resisting the urge to mold my body onto her back and touch her with greedy, possessive hands.

She opened the door and shrieked. The entire room was filled with mustard-colored velvet, from the chairs, to the bed, to the tasteless ornaments on the walls. "This is just... not acceptable," she said at last. "How... what..." She sighed dramatically, setting the candle on a stand near the door.

This was the moment I should bow and bid her good-night, leaving her in her Concubine.

I dropped my helm and gloves, stepped up to her and put my arms around her waist, turning her to face me. If I'd had words for what I wanted to say, they were lost in her startled honey eyes. She was poised in my arms, a bird ready to take flight. I could not conceal my intention, so I kissed her lightly, gently, pulling away before she had a chance to respond.

Her eyes were bright as she slid her hands up my chestplate to clasp at the back of my neck, and I pulled her closer unconsciously, bringing our bellies and thighs into contact. She pulled me to her lips, and I kissed her like I was drowning and she was air, glorious, delicious. I'm not sure how she kissed me, but it was passionate and alive, so alive.

Thus emboldened, I wasted no more time in frivolous kissing. I picked her partially off the floor as I brought her to the bed, laying her upon it and sliding my body onto hers, between her welcoming legs. We'd fucked with my armor on before, and though it restricted my movement I remembered her loving the hard, cold metal on her skin. We established a steady rhythm, and I kept my body high enough that I wasn't actually pushing against her core very much, teasing instead with my hips, careful not to push too hard. I could almost feel her body though my armor, and I wanted her so badly that I could easily hurt her.

I bit down ravenously on the meaty part of where her shoulder became her neck, taking her tunic and tearing it apart with my gloved hands. She arched into me, which usually meant I could touch her breasts a little, very softly, but in my frantic passion I didn't trust myself with them.

Instead I grasped her hips and ass, sliding down so that my stomach fit against her, which made her gasp and skip a beat. She was wearing smallclothes, and when I slipped a finger to check they were so hot and wet that I could barely stop myself from going under them and inside her. I licked the side of her breast gently, digging in her ass with my fingers to hold her captive while I ground into her with my hard stomach.

She moaned, and then growled deep in her throat, and somehow I was on my back and she was unfastening my groin-plate, her breasts hanging heavy against my armor. She rubbed herself against me, and I took the side of her breast and gently pushed it into my armor, cupping her face in my other hand and pulling her up to kiss.

I focused completely on her lips, trying to memorize the mysterious way she kissed, so close and deep but not invasive or wet. Halfway through our kiss she'd found a way through the padded suit I wear under my armor and she was inside me, with tingly pressure-pleasure that did nothing but tease. My whole body convulsed and I think I started moan-pant-begging, for movement or more specific pressure or please, Isabela, "Fuck you."

With the kiss and the begging going nowhere, and her body so dainty between the huge plates of my armor, I wrapped my leg around hers and pivoted to flip our positions. This only mostly worked, since her fingers started moving a bit the minute I tried, making me collapse a few times before I managed the feat. I locked my jaws on her shoulder and slipped two fingers inside her waiting wet depths, stroking her deep and slow before pulling out a bit to rub her nub. I could tell by the way her cunt rippled around my fingers that it would only take a few more deep strokes to make her explode, and I must have hesitated, wondering whether I wanted to give her that satisfaction so early, so fast.

Her fingers tightened in me, not moving so much as squeezing me tight, so hard that it hurt. I bared my teeth at her, crying out and digging deep into her, grabbing her head with my other hand and staring deep into her eyes. Her body rippled and her cunt squeezed my fingers, blooming and soaking my hand and the sheets, but through all that she looked in my eyes still, and cried my name, over and over. Her eyes and the sound and feeling of her orgasm was more than enough to make me come, but her fingers holding me changed it to something long, slow, and so deep that I wasn't even sure if I was coming or if it was just my heartbeat in heaven.

She said my name one more time, her voice breaking, and then slid down so that her face was close to my stomach and her fingers could move in me, which put her cunt out of my reach. When the pressure released, my orgasm paused, and when she started pumping in me it exploded, and it was all I could do to collapse with my weight on my side as I rode the waves.

My voice was hoarse when I was done, and tears were running down my face. I tried to move to wipe my face on the sheets, but I couldn't lift it, so drained was I. I was vaguely aware of her arm around my back and her breath on my stomach-plate, and suddenly I was crying again, absolute release followed by absolute misery. I cried for her leaving, and for never having her back. I cried for losing this forever, regardless of whether I had her at all.

Eventually I became aware of the fact that she was stripping off my armor, and I tried to pull myself together, to help. I couldn't pretend I hadn't been sobbing like a child, but I could prove that my misery didn't incapacitate me.

When the armor and the padded suit were off, I was wearing almost as little as she was, only a spun cloth tunic and long underwear. She wrapped her body around mine, her voluptuousness consuming my lanky, wiry frame, and kissed my forehead and cheeks. The candle was guttering, and only a little moonlight shone through the viewport.

"Hawke... I want you here, with me," she said finally, stumbling over the words. "I need a new crew, and... I know you'll have my back, no matter what happens."

I couldn't believe she was talking about her ship's crew, after all that. After my tears, after those orgasms. But maybe it meant something... she wanted me on this ship? With her? This was not leaving me. This was... bringing me.

I clutched her desperately, kissing her face and her lips like a dog. She giggled and rubbed her nose on my shirt, like she used to. I finally settled into her body again, basking in the delightful delusion that she wanted me with her, all the time. I couldn't be sure what she'd meant, but now I didn't want to respond for fear that I'd misunderstood.

She pulled back and looked at my face. "Will you answer?"

Hell. If she was going to leave, she'd leave; saying it wouldn't change anything. "I love you," I said hoarsely, watching her face. Surely she already knew.

Surprise and some unidentifiable emotion warred on her face. "I came back because of Castillon," she said finally. "But I left because of you. Because you make me feel too safe, and that scares me. Because it would be so easy to..." She stopped there, and looked away.

"Make me safe, too?" I suggested, hoping.

"I can never give you what you need," she said, and I remembered those exact words from three years past.

I shook my head. "Can't you feel how... it's like everyone in the world is... a different kind than us, like a different color. But we're the same. We fit, we match. And that's all I need from you. I just need you beside me."

"You need a woman who can be faithful with everything she is, who will be there for you always, and support you, and... love you."

My breath hitched at the word. She avoided my gaze. Hmm. So she left because she didn't trust how good it felt to be together? Okay, but now she was saying that she wasn't right for me. Was this why she kept her hands off me for the last two months? Because she figured she'd just leave, and she didn't want to hurt me more than she already had? Isabela had always had a peculiar kind of restraint.

And now, ship in hand, she has realized that she doesn't want to escape. Perhaps this was the thing that was missing, all that time. She could never be with the Champion as a shipwrecked pirate nobody. As a captain, on more equal ground, maybe she would. Nonetheless she has tried to convince me that I should not take her.

"That sounds boring to me," I said finally. "Somebody's got to tell me when I'm wrong. I don't want a follower. I want a partner."

She smiled a little. "Do you know why I chose Concubine?" she asked.

My brow crinkled as I considered the question, and then I grinned back at her. "Really?" She giggled, and I said mock-seriously, "Isabela, you can't mean to suggest you'll be unfaithful."

"To her? Never, sweet thing." My heart shivered at that, and I suddenly became aware of her cleavage so near to my hand, her tunic ripped down the center to her navel. I slipped a hand in to cradle the back of her rib cage, and when I looked up her eyes had darkened with desire.

But before I kissed her, I said, "Can we stay in Kirkwall until Meredith steps down? I worry for the Circle, and for Orsino." She nodded assent. "And... I don't like you sleeping with other people."

At that she smiled a little. "I haven't really wanted to since we started... this."

"Nobody?" I pressed.

"Alright," she said, and kissed me like I'd never been kissed before.


End file.
